


Oddities

by vials



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, More characters to be added, Paranormal, Regret, paranormal horror, paranormally-sensitive Q, skyfall is hella haunted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: Skyfall has always been haunted. That much isn't surprising; if a house is old enough, it's inevitable that it'll have a couple of ghosts. But the ghosts that haunt Skyfall have never been straightforward. For as long as James can remember, something much more sinister has been at play; something much more intelligent, and much more malicious. It's no surprise that James tries to spend as much time away from the place as possible. In a house that preys on everything a person would rather forget, twisting people and memories and throwing them back in increasingly awful and corrupted ways, it's really the last place a man like James should be.Unfortunately, that's exactly where James and Q end up when they find themselves stranded on their way through the Scottish Highlands -- and Q might just be the missing piece needed to set everything in motion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to post this around Halloween time but as you can probably tell, the project grew much larger than I anticipated. I've often said that Skyfall looks like the perfect place to set a proper Gothic ghost story, so here I am finally writing it!
> 
> This takes place post-Skyfall, but in some AU where the house wasn't totally obliterated.

The rain was the heaviest that Q had ever seen it, and it weighed down his clothes and churned the ground under his feet into mud. The walk hadn’t seemed far from the car, but he should have known they would have issues – the entire reason that they had left the car up at the gates was because of the fact that the marshland had grown far too boggy to risk bringing it through. The main road had been bad enough, which explained why they were stopping here of all places. Ten minutes ago, and Q hadn’t even known it existed. 

“You said you _grew up_ here?” Q asked, wrinkling his nose slightly as he stared at the building finally looming out of the rain in front of them.

“It looks a lot nicer in better weather,” James said, and Q snorted.

“I doubt that.”

“You’re be correct to do so,” James told him. “That was a lie.”

Q laughed, shaking his hair out of his eyes and sending drops flying. He blinked up at the house through his rain-spotted glasses, trying to focus on it through the gloom and the sheets of torrential rain. The house was rather depressing, if he were honest with himself; a bleak building in a harsh landscape, sitting squat and defiant as the weather raged around it. Q felt cold just looking at it, and it was nothing to do with the rainwater he could feel trickling down his back, and more to do with the fact that he knew there would be no warmth found behind those stone walls. 

He picked up his pace slightly, catching up with James, suddenly anxious to not be far behind him while he was so vulnerable on the open moorland. The wind swept around them and he found himself reaching out, placing a hand on James’s arm and gripping it tight.

“Are you sure we can’t just keep going?” he asked, an inexplicable desperation briefly washing over him before vanishing as quickly as it had come. “Surely there’s another road, a better one.”

“There’s nothing,” James told him. “I’m sorry, Q, but we have to stay here. There’s no way the car would make it through these roads, and spending the night in a car in weather like this would be far more unpleasant than one night here.”

Q doubted that, but he didn’t voice his concern. He felt suddenly silly for it, as though he had simply allowed himself to be taken up with the weather and the bleakness and the sense of isolation. That was all it was, he figured. He was from London; he wasn’t used to such vast emptiness. Even in the middle of the night, he could lay awake in bed next to James and listen to the sounds of the street outside. London never slept – he was never alone there. Here, it was easy for him to believe that he and James could be the only people left on the planet. 

“How old is the place?” Q asked, hoping that if he added some information to the mixture, he might find himself less on edge. 

“Centuries,” James said, giving him a thin smile. “There been a house on the site since the thirteenth century, but records show my family coming into possession of it in the fifteenth century. I’m not quite sure how; I believe it was bequeathed to an ancestor by an owner with no blood relations. Either way, apparently my family really liked it, because they stayed there ever since.”

“And now it’s yours,” Q said, looking up at it. “What a place to own.”

They were close enough now that they had left the road and made their way out of the mud and onto the courtyard in front of the house, and Q found himself suddenly nervous again, staring up at the building. All of the curtains were open, giving the exterior a glassy-eyed look that left Q feeling incredibly exposed. He wanted to tell himself he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t do so in good conscience. The feeling only intensified the closer they got to the house, and he found himself looking at his feet instead, watching the rainwater collecting in puddles. He risked a glance to the side as they huddled on the step, James patting through his pockets for the keys. Q wondered briefly why James carried them with him when he had never mentioned this place before, but his curiosity over that was dwarfed by the sudden jolt of shock that came from seeing what was undeniably a light flickering on a significant distance from the house.

“What’s that?” he asked, tapping James’s arm and pointing. “It just kind of appeared out there.”

James barely spared it a glance. “Kincade. The gamekeeper. It’s nothing to worry about. He’ll probably be on his way to bed.”

“Should we maybe tell him we’re here?” Q asked, and James looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want to walk across there in this? No, we’ll save it until the morning, I think.”

Q didn’t know what he was expecting to see until James opened the door and he realised that it had been exactly what was there. Despite the torrential rain outside, the house was practically silent, the heavy stone keeping most of the noise out. It was just as cold as Q had expected, and just as dark, and just as vast. He hesitantly stepped inside after James, jumping slightly as James turned and slammed the door closed with some force.

“Sorry,” he said, giving Q an apologetic smile. “It always blows open in this weather, unless you give it a good slam.”

“Ah,” Q said, as James locked the door with a heavy clunk of the key. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

Now he was standing inside with the door keeping the weather firmly outside, Q could hear that the house wasn’t as silent as he initially thought. The rain was barely audible, but the wind certainly was; Q could hear it in whistling gusts from upstairs, and he shivered, thinking about how the wind would undoubtedly find its way to him through every crack and gap it could find.

“Don’t worry too much about the cold,” James told him, peeling off his sodden jacket. “I’ve yet to find a house with more blankets in it than this one. There are fireplaces, too, in the bedrooms. It’ll be rather cosy, I think.”

The wind whistled high above them, sounding almost like a scream, and Q shivered again.

“I’m sure,” he said, and James laughed.

“You don’t approve?”

“It’s not that,” Q said hurriedly. “Well, I suppose it’s a bit creepy, in this weather. I’m just trying to imagine a child growing up here.”

“It wasn’t always this bad,” James said, helping Q get out of his own soaked jacket. “It looked a little bit nicer, when there was more personality to it and when people actually lived in it. It’s been empty since I went to university.”

“You’ve never thought about selling it?” Q asked, before he frowned slightly, wondering if he was being insensitive. 

“I’ve thought about it,” James said, shrugging. “But it’s a lot of effort. Too much effort considering it doesn’t usually bother me in day to day life. I kind of forget it’s here, what with Kincade looking after it.”

“Maybe he should move into it,” Q said, looking around as he stepped a little further into the hall. Most of the downstairs was open-plan, and the shadows of the furniture broken by doorways and walls made everything look disjointed. “Maybe he could breathe a bit of life back into the place.”

“Unlikely,” James said, amused. “Besides, I don’t think you’d be able to pay him enough for that. It’s far too much for just one person.”

“Or two,” Q said, looking back at James. He could feel there was some discomfort visible on his face; clearly James had spotted it through the gloom, because he stepped closer, brushing some of Q’s wet hair off of his forehead.

“You don’t have to look so unnerved,” James told him. “It’s only for a night. I promise, it doesn’t look half as bad in the morning.”

“It feels…” Q began, before breaking off, realising that he hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts. He knew from James’s curious expression that he wasn’t going to get away with leaving the sentence incomplete, though; with a sigh, he forced himself to speak again. “It feels sad.”

If James was surprised at the comment, he didn’t show it. He looked around, raising an eyebrow before looking back at Q.

“I suppose you wouldn’t be wrong,” he said. “All the more reason to go to bed, I think. There won’t be much to do here at this time with the weather being how it is, and besides, I’m sure it’s getting late now anyway.”

“It was about nine, last time I checked,” Q said. He didn’t feel tired yet, but that was unsurprising – it was rare he got to bed before two in the morning, but something told him that wifi signal was going to be non-existent here. Once again, the realisation of just how isolated they were hit him; he hurried to catch up with James, not wanting to find himself alone in the house for longer than he needed to.

*

No lights were on and they had no moonlight to navigate by, but James clearly hadn’t forgotten the house he had grown up in. Q stuck close to him as James lead him through several dark rooms and to and equally dark staircase; Q got an unpleasant sensation as he followed James up, looking past him to see nothing but darkness, as though nothing else existed but the stairs. It was a relief to feel the floor level out as they reach an upstairs hallway; a few seconds later and they had come to a bedroom, slightly lighter than the hall outside thanks to the huge windows on the opposite wall, the curtains pulled back. Q couldn’t see far outside, but at least it sounded more normal here; the room was facing the wind, and the rain battered the window with a sound that was reassuring after the muffled silence downstairs. Q got the impression that James had chosen the room with that in mind.

James finally turned a light on – a smaller bedside lamp that lit the room in a surprisingly gentle orange glow. In the light, Q found himself beginning to feel slightly foolish for letting his imagination run away from him downstairs, though he still couldn’t shake the discomfort he felt as his back, knowing that the dark hallway lay just beyond the door. James was at the foot of the bed, lifting the lid of a heavy wooden box there and beginning to tug out large blankets. 

“If you look around, there should be something slightly more comfortable to wear to bed,” he said, as Q set his laptop case down on the bed. They had left their heavier suitcases in the car, not fancying the feat that would be dragging them through the mud. “But if not, it should eventually be warm enough to just strip down to whatever’s dry.”

“I don’t think I _have_ anything dry,” Q said, pulling a face as he took his glasses off and pulled his sweater over his head. 

It seemed he’d been luckier than he thought – his T-shirt was relatively dry, as were his boxers, but everything else including his socks were a lost cause. He found once he had gotten one wet piece of clothing off, he couldn’t stand being in any of it; he stood there in nothing but his boxers and T-shirt, shivering lightly until James tossed a blanket over to him. Q wrapped it around his shoulders and stood there, trying to get some warmth back into him and James tugged off his own sodden clothing.

“How are you not freezing?” he asked, his teeth still chattering, when James had taken to rooting through a dresser while only in his underwear.

“It gets much colder here,” James answered, amused.

“I couldn’t imagine it.”

“I guess growing up here left me with a bit of a tolerance. Here, I found some old pyjama bottoms. They’ll probably dwarf you, but I’m sure you won’t care.”

James was right on both counts; Q had to roll up the bottom of the trousers several times before he could walk without the danger of tripping up, but the extra warmth was worth it. He huddled on the bed, blankets wrapped around him, watching James kneel in front of the fireplace and lean into it, shining what looked to be his phone’s flashlight up there. It must have been clear, because a few seconds later he shuffled backwards and got to work arranging some of the wood left in a wire basket beside the fireplace. He could almost convince himself that it would be rather cosy once the fire was going, but his apprehension still hadn’t left him completely even in the light and Q was beginning to resign himself to the fact that it probably wouldn’t vanish entirely until he was far away from this place.

“I still can’t believe you grew up here,” he said, once the room was filled with the glow and crackle of flames. “It’s only now that I realise I don’t know all that much about how you grew up.”

“It’s not very interesting, I’m afraid,” James said, pushing the logs around. “Aside from the rather large house, it was all fairly average.”

“I don’t think a childhood could be average out here,” Q said.

“Oh? Why not?”

“Well, it’s so isolated,” he said, tugging at a loose thread on the blanket. “I don’t know, maybe I’m comparing it too much to growing up in London, but who did you talk to? What did you do?”

“I went to school, Q,” James said, laughing. “And my parents travelled a lot. I was never short of people to talk to. In fact, for the first decade of my life, I can’t say I saw this place much at all. Then I think I saw too much of it.”

Q laughed, but it was impossible to ignore the slight bite to James’s voice as he said it; there was a hint of seriousness to his words, and once again Q was forced to acknowledge just how little he knew about James’s early life, despite how long they had been together now. He wanted to ask, but something told him not to be overly curious – just because they were here didn’t mean it was a free for all, and besides, Q knew James well enough by now to know that he hadn’t exactly wanted to come here, and it was a case of a serious last resort. 

“I can see why you might end up seeing too much of this place,” he said, and James turned to look at him, the firelight making his face look oddly soft.

“You don’t like it very much, do you?” he asked, and Q wondered for a moment if he might be offended.

“It’s – it’s not that I don’t _like_ it…” he began, but James laughed.

“Don’t look so terrified, Q. I hate this place. I always have.”

A breeze found its way under the door and sent the flames dancing madly for a moment. Q shivered, tugging the blankets more tightly around himself.

“I can see why,” he said, giving James a thin smile. “It’s… kind of depressing. I don’t know, don’t get me wrong, it’s not the size or the vastness that makes it feel that way. I’ve seen plenty of large houses that are lovely. But there’s something about this one that just feels very foreboding. Maybe it’s the mountains outside, or something. The landscape is very threatening. Or maybe it’s the storm. I don’t know, but there really is something about it. When I think about you growing up here, I could cry.”

The fire recovered from the breeze and crackled loudly again, some of the warmth reaching Q across the room. James stood up, going back to the dresser to dig out a pair of pyjama bottoms, before finally joining Q on the bed.

“You’re too sensitive for your own good sometimes,” James said, teasing, though Q thought he could detect another hint of something a little darker underneath it. He chose to ignore it; he was sure James hadn’t meant for it to be audible.

“I don’t hear you complaining other times,” Q said, arching an eyebrow, and James laughed.

“I suppose it does have its slight advantages.”

Q laughed too as James leaned over him, pressing a firm kiss to his lips, and ordinarily Q would have probably had some protests about all this barely five minutes after arriving at James’s childhood home but he found himself so anxious for something familiar that he didn’t even bother with any attempt at decency. He kissed him back, shifting slightly so he could lay down, pulling James down with him and enjoying the extra warmth. It wasn’t as though he would ever say no to the opportunity, but there was something more to it tonight; a desire to be distracted as thoroughly as possible, so his mind would stop wandering the dark halls on the other side of the door.

His mind didn’t linger there for long, quickly forgetting its earlier train of thought as James’s hands worked their way under the blanket Q was still wrapped in, tugging at his trousers. Q shifted and kicked the blanket away, giggling as James reached over and tugged it over himself. It was easy to feel safer when all he could see was James, the rest of the room blocked out by the blanket and the way he leaned over him; Q let himself lay back and forget about everything but how James’s skin felt against his, and if James had been thinking along the same lines, he soon forgot, too.

Later, breathless and exhausted and resting his head on James’s chest, Q vaguely wondered how he could have let himself get so on edge in the first place. Maybe it was the haze of sleep tugging at him, or maybe it was the familiar way James’s breaths sounded, but the foreboding seemed to have receded and Q could have laughed, if he had the energy. The only thing he could bring himself to dread now would be the inevitable trip to the bathroom to clean up; when James finally murmured that they should, a hand gently tangling in Q’s hair, all Q could bring himself to do was moan and press his face against James’s skin. 

“Come on,” James said, and Q felt him laugh. “I’ll even come with you. We can suffer together.”

A thought flickered at the edges of Q’s thoughts – was he saying that simply as an act of solidarity, or was James also nervous about being alone in the house? The thought didn’t make sense, considering Q was sure James had spent plenty of time alone in this place, but despite the lack of evidence to back it up, it was there, fully formed, threatening to chase the peace from his mind again.

 _Stop it,_ Q told himself, beginning to grow frustrated. _Stop being ridiculous. Of course you’re going to be unnerved – it’s a creepy old house in the middle of nowhere. You’re only here for one bloody night. Get a grip._

Emboldened slightly by the thought, Q managed to find the energy to get up and follow James across the room. It seemed even sillier to acknowledge his nerves now he realised that the bathroom simply joined on to the room they were already in, though stepping through the doorway felt like stepping into another building entirely. The bathroom was very old, and Q would have thought it rather beautiful if it hadn’t been for how cold it was in there, away from the fire, and how gloomy it was, even with the lights on. Q stole a glance at himself in the mirror, seeing that despite his tousled hair and the red marks he could see forming on his neck, there was still something unsettled in his eyes, staring back at him. Q risked a glance at James. He didn’t know if he was imagining it, or if James really did look slightly tense, too.

They didn’t speak much as they washed up, and Q got the feeling that James was just as eager as he was to get back into the relative safety of the bedroom.

 _Why do you see it as safe?_ Q asked himself. _It’s just the same as the rest of the house. If there is something going on, it’s not going to be on your side._

Q frowned. His _side_? He couldn’t explain where the thoughts were coming from, but they were getting increasingly ridiculous.

“Ready?” James asked, and Q nodded.

“It’s freezing,” he said, laughing weakly, and James gave a smile that could have been strained.

Q noticed that when they left the bathroom, James let him go first, and then paused in the doorway as though checking behind him as he followed Q back out into the bedroom. The fire had warmed up the room nicely, especially when compared to the bathroom, and Q tried to take some comfort from it as he watched James lock the door to the bathroom.

“Why are you doing that?” Q asked, before he could stop himself. He immediately wished he hadn’t asked; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Security,” James said simply. “Old habits. If you can lock a door, always do so.”

Q smiled and tried to pretend that James’s comment was simply a reference to their jobs, though he had to wonder just who would follow them all the way out here and then get in through a first floor bathroom. James climbed into bed beside him and Q huddled up, turning his face against him and squeezing his eyes shut.

“We’ll set out again tomorrow,” James said quietly, as though he knew what Q had been thinking and knew how desperately he needed to hear it. “It won’t be long. Just tonight.”

Q nodded against him, and he was thankful when James made no effort to switch out the light.

*

Q woke with a start, his heart thudding in his chest. At first he thought he had managed to huddle down under the blankets, the room was so dark around him, but then he realised with another jolt that the light was out. The fire bathed the room in a faint glow, but despite the amount of logs James had put on, it had mostly burned out.

Q’s heart was in his throat and he couldn’t explain why. He tried to rationalise it with thoughts of a nightmare that he must have forgotten, but some instinctive part of his brain knew that that wasn’t true. Q pushed himself up slightly, resting on his elbow, and looked around the room. Even with the faint glow from the fire, the darkness pressing around the bed was like nothing Q had ever seen before. It was as though the light from the flames couldn’t push past a few feet away from the fireplace; the darkness was simply soaking it all up.

“James,” Q tried, but he barely made a sound. His words were stuck in his throat, and he could feel his heart hammering against his chest. He wanted to clear his throat and try again, but he was terrified that that would cause too much noise and attract attention, though from what Q wasn’t sure. “James?” he tried again, this time managing a small croak, but James didn’t stir.

The darkness seemed to be intensifying; Q was sure that the flames were dying as he watched. The thought of the room becoming completely dark terrified him, and a sudden surge of fear rushed through him, bringing with it a wave of nausea. Q closed his eyes, realising that whatever was happening, he didn’t want to see it. He watched the faint glow of the fire from behind his eyelids, seeing it go from a burned orange to a dull red, and finally nothing.

There was a moment of stillness, and then, as undeniable as if Q had found himself standing outside in the storm, a gust of ice cold air blew itself right into Q’s face, cold tendrils running down his back like fingers. 

“Q! Q!”

Q was suddenly aware that James was shaking him, sounding urgent, and Q forced himself to open his eyes. He heard himself whimper, briefly registering James’s worried expression; they were both sitting up, and the room around him was bright and warm, the fire burning high in the grate, the bedside lamp still on beside Q. 

“James –” Q began, but he didn’t know how to continue.

“It’s alright,” James told him, but Q thought his voice sounded oddly gruff. “Nothing like an old house and a storm to bring out the nightmares, hmm?”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Q said, before he could stop himself. 

“Q,” James said, but Q shook his head.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he said again. “Something – something really weird happened, James. The room was so dark, the fire was almost burned out… something had turned the light off. There was someone there, James!”

“Listen to yourself, Q,” James said. “You’re spooked. It’s alright. But please listen to yourself. This kind of thinking isn’t like you. It was a nightmare, it was just—”

James broke off so suddenly that Q felt another icy shiver run down his spine. Slowly, reluctantly, Q followed his gaze, over the room and to the bathroom door.

It was wide open.

*

“I’m telling you, Q. That bathroom is draughty as hell. The wind must have blown it open, and that’s what you felt on your face.”

“That’s absolute bullshit, James,” Q snapped. “You locked the door.”

“Maybe I thought I did, but I didn’t.”

“I watched you. I heard it lock. I even asked you about it.”

“It’s an old house, Q, and no one lives in it. Things are going to fall into disrepair. Maybe it came loose in a breeze, or maybe it just sounded like it locked but it didn’t. There’s really no need to concern yourself about this. And anyway, say it was something creepy,” James said, looking at him for a moment with such intensity that Q felt almost foolish for insisting it. “We’re leaving soon. You’ll never have to come here again, and it can just be one of those ghost stories everyone has.”

“What’s yours?” Q asked, suddenly defiant. James’s intention was probably to make him feel foolish; Q would fight it every step of the way. “If everyone’s got one, what’s yours?”

“That’s hardly important, Q.”

“No, I think given the circumstances, it is. You know mine, so let me hear yours.”

“Lots of unusual things have happened out here,” James said dismissively, folding up one of the blankets. “I’m sure it’s all got completely rational explanations, but alright, some things have happened here that were odd and quite unnerving. But most of it was just what you said – cold air, feeling like someone was blowing it in your face. The house is full of gaps. It’ll happen.”

“And what about the fire?” Q demanded. “What about the light being off? I saw it, James. It was – there’s no way natural darkness can be like that.”

“Think about where we are, Q,” James said, sighing. “We’re in the middle of the mountains. There’s no other houses around for miles. It was storming, the sky was overcast. Where do you think light will come from out here?”

“You know it’s different,” Q said, beginning to grow frustrated. “Remember when we came in here last night, and it was a bit lighter in here compared to the hall outside? Because of the windows? The curtains were open then and they were open when we got up this morning. How come when I woke up, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face?”

“You were _dreaming_ , Q!” James said. “You’re telling me you’ve never had a waking dream before? You woke up from a dream, you were still half asleep, your brain struggled for a moment to catch up with your body and it resulted in mild visual hallucinations. It’s perfectly normal.”

“You’re really desperate not to believe me, aren’t you?” Q asked, sighing, and James looked at him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look. I’m just trying to put you more at ease.”

“If you didn’t believe me, you’d just let it rest,” Q said, staring back at him, refusing to back down. “That’s what you usually do. You have that smug expression of yours on your face but you never argue like this.”

“Come on, Q,” James said again.

“It’s true!” Q protested. “You know it is! Usually you just leave it and wait for me to be proven wrong, if you’re so sure. But you seem just as desperate to convince yourself you’re right over this. I don’t think it’s just me you’re trying to persuade. James, what harm would come from you admitting that this house might be a little bit haunted?”

James snorted, but didn’t reply. Q wondered if he was just trying to be difficult, considering Q had just pointed out the fact he was replying was proof enough that he knew something, or if he genuinely thought Q was being ridiculous. He thought briefly about continuing to argue his point, but quickly realised that he didn’t have the energy – he was tired, having barely slept the night before, and he was cold and hungry and irritable. Plus there was the fact that he was going to be in a car with James for several hours very soon, so it would probably be kinder for them both if things were relatively friendly.

“Look,” Q said, shoving the last of his clothes into his bag. “Can you at least admit it was all a bit creepy?”

“Well, I’ll admit that much,” James said. “Old houses always are. This one especially, if I’m honest.”

Q told himself the weight he could hear in James’s words was just more wishful thinking, though privately, somewhere in the back of his mind, he filed it all away as evidence that he was right. He was no stranger to these kinds of things, even if he didn’t talk about them much. He had quickly learned not to, and it was situations such as these that had taught him as much. People were so eager to find what they called a rational explanation, but if Q was honest, half the explanations he had heard seemed more unlikely than the possibility of the cause being paranormal.

“Come on,” James said, when Q had finished fastening up his bag. “We should probably get downstairs before Kincade comes over and hears us upstairs. He’s a little bit protective of the place and he takes his job seriously. I wouldn’t want you to turn the corner and run into the business end of a shotgun.”

“Is that… likely?” Q asked, and James smiled.

“Don’t worry. He doesn’t fire right away.”

“Promising,” Q said weakly, and he made sure he stuck close to James as they made their way downstairs.

In the light, the house looked less threatening but no less miserable. It was well cared for, with none of the dust and cobwebs that Q would have expected, but there was still a heavy aura around it that made the place wholly unpleasant. Some of the doors were left open, Q imagined for air circulation, and looking in he could see a lot of the furniture was covered up with white sheets. He frowned slightly, wondering if he just hadn’t been paying attention last night – surely he would have been aware some of the doors were open? The bedroom they had stayed in had been lighter than the hallway, and he was certain he would have spotted the white sheets when everything else was so dark. He tried to tell himself that maybe he had been sticking so close to James that he had been focusing on him rather than what was around them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just making excuses. He was sure all the doors had been closed last night, and hadn’t their locked bathroom door managed to open itself? Q knew that the wind could do strange things in old houses, but this was the first time he had heard of it being able to unlock doors.

Downstairs looked at least a little brighter, with its open plan layout and large windows set into the stone. Q could tell that a lot of things have been moved or packed up over the years, but it didn’t change the fact that he could tell how grand the house must have been when James had been a child. He tried to imagine it for a moment, all dark oaks and grey stone, fires in every hearth and actual personality in the scattered belongings, but no matter how warm and inviting he tried to make it in his head, he couldn’t shake off the instinctive knowledge that the place was simply _bleak_.

“I can see why you left this place,” he said quietly, and while he felt immediately bad for the comment, he was comforted slightly by James’s knowing snort.

He caught a glance outside as they walked through the hall, and it was difficult to believe that such a storm had blown through the night before. Outside was bright and clear and fresh, and Q could almost smell the rain if he let himself believe that anything could reach him through those thick stone walls. He tried to let the sight encourage him – if the weather was clear, there would be nothing stopping them from leaving that day.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much in the way of breakfast food in the house,” James said, sounding genuinely apologetic as he added, “or tea.”

“I can’t say I expected there would be,” Q said, smiling. “It’s fine. We can stop somewhere when we see something. Though, I imagine that might be a while yet.”

“A few hours,” James confirmed. “I’ll see if Kincade will part with anything. He usually has far too much up there for just one person, and I’m sure he probably won’t let us escape right away.”

He tried not to show it, but Q felt his heart sink slightly. James must have picked up on something, because there was a mixture of understanding and worry on his face when he looked at him.

“We can go and see him, if you’d prefer,” he said. “His house is nice and normal, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear.”

Q remembered the little light flickering at them through the storm and suddenly wished that he had said to James that yes, they should go over there, even with the rain and the mud. Maybe there could have stayed there instead, and then none of this would have happened.

“I think it would make a nice change of scenery,” he said, not wanting to mention anything else because he knew it would likely degenerate into another debate about whether or not Q had been dreaming last night, and the more he thought about it, the more frustrated he got. Briefly, he found himself wondering if Kincade would believe him, and he supposed that said a lot about the situation – he was hoping that he might find some support in a complete stranger.

“We’ll see what we can do, then,” James said, and Q took some comfort from that fact that James was at least being understanding.

As luck would have it, they bumped into Kincade on their way over to see him, and while it wasn’t exactly far enough away from the house for Q’s liking (he didn’t think that anywhere would be far away enough, if he were honest), Q still felt his mood improve slightly now he was out in the fresh air. 

Kincade recovered from the shock of apparently not seeing James for several years rather quickly, but Q supposed that anyone who had known James for long enough would be used to his occasional vanishings. Instead he turned his curiosity on Q, who, while not surprised, always found it rather odd when the attention was focused on him rather than James in such situations.

“An unusual name you have there,” Kincade said to him as they shook hands. 

“K-E-W, like the gardens, not the letter,” Q lied, the words rehearsed and coming easy to him. “My parents loved the place. They were quite strange when it came to what would make an acceptable name for a child.”

Kincade smiled, amused. “And you grew up in London?”

“I did.”

“I suppose that was wonderful to grow up with.”

“When your classmates have names like Atticus and Digby, you count your blessings whenever you have them.”

“I suppose that does put it into perspective,” Kincade said. “How did you say you knew James again?”

“He’s terrible with basic computer care and I work in the IT department,” Q said, hoping that Kincade wasn’t of the sort that could tell a solid lie from a weaker one; this part of the story was rarely fleshed out to avoid the risk of contradicting information. Whether James had the same thought process or just wanted to be honest with someone for once wasn’t sure, but Q supposed it served as a decent distraction.

“As well as my IT expert he’s also my partner,” he said casually. “So I suppose my heavy-handed approach to modern technology has some uses.”

Q noted a flicker of surprise on Kincade’s face that always awoke a sudden anxiety in him, but the older man recovered quickly and Q realised that the look hadn’t been for the reasons that he had been worried about.

“Well, that’s surprising,” Kincade said. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to settle down with anyone.”

“That’s if he decides to keep me,” James said, winking, and Q managed a smile that came a lot easier than any he’d managed since arriving the previous night. It seemed the longer he stayed out of the house the better he felt, and any distance between himself and those cold stone walls was good distance.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting some breakfast,” Kincade said, as they trudged through the mud towards the smaller house Q had seen the night before. “Careful on this patch. The mud will take you down right to the knee.”

“I was hoping we could be so cheeky,” James replied. “We weren’t exactly expecting such bad weather, and our plans to get something at the hotel were obviously postponed.”

“What was it you said you were doing all the way out here?”

“Taking a break,” James said, before smiling at Q. “Or, trying to, I suppose.”

“You’d do much better than to come up here for a break at this time of the year,” Kincade said. “It’s not exactly what I would call vacation weather.”

“Q’s a bit of a history nut,” James explained. “And Scotland has a lot of history. Especially of the particular type that Q is interested in.”

“Oh?” Kincade asked, raising an eyebrow at Q, who gave a shy smile, playing the part of someone with an interest that he obviously realised was a little out of the ordinary, and absolutely not somebody trying to pry for answers.

“Ghosts,” he said simply. “The paranormal. The UK is an incredibly haunted country and apparently Scotland is the most haunted part of it, making the country probably the most haunted place on earth. I figured I’d come up and see some of the places I’d read about for real.”

“You’ll get plenty of weird and wonderful things happening out here,” Kincade said, and Q listened for anything more sinister but at the moment Kincade seemed to be entirely conversational. “Scotland is full of it, what with all the castles. Other things, too, if that’s your interest as well. Odd phenomena and strange creatures. You’ve come to the right place if that’s what you’re interested in.”

“That’s what I was hoping,” Q said, and while he didn’t dare look to confirm it, he was sure he could feel James staring at him. For that reason, Q decided it was probably best to wait on the questions about the house; besides, he got the feeling that Kincade probably wouldn’t be honest with him if James was right there. James seemed to give off an intense aura of secrecy about the house – and it _was_ secrecy, Q knew, not denial. James knew as well as he did that he hadn’t been mistaken about what had happened the night before, and he was clearly hoping they would leave before anything else happened that Q would grow curious about.

If Q wanted answers, he would almost certainly need to get Kincade alone. He had no idea how he was going to manage it.

*

Luckily, the problem solved itself.

After breakfast, James took it on himself to walk up and bring the car back down, to save Q the unpleasant task of fighting his way through more mud. That left Q with Kincade and his two hunting dogs, all four of them parked rather comfortably in front of the fireplace.

“I suppose you need them all the way out here,” Q said, nodding over to the dogs as one of them yawned and stretched himself out. “It’s not like you can just run down to Tesco.”

“Part of me wishes I could,” Kincade said, chuckling. “I get a little fed up of rabbit. Ah, well. It’s all part of the experience.”

“Would you ever want to live somewhere like London?” Q asked. “Where it’s busier, more lively? Or are you one of those people who likes the isolation?”

“I have to say I like the quiet rather than the isolation,” Kincade said. “Though it isn’t so bad with the dogs. It is a little intimidating, mind you. If things go wrong out here, they go very wrong.”

“Do they go wrong often?” Q asked, his voice casual. He got the impression that Kincade was a man who liked to talk; if Q steered the conversation enough, he figured he could get to a place that might be useful.

“Not often, and when it does it’s usually the weather,” Kincade said. “Though one time someone scared the shit out of me knocking on my door at two in the morning. Their car had broken down a few miles away, and of course they had no signal.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a horror movie,” Q said, shivering slightly as he remembered he and James’s approach in the storm the night before. He wondered if the place had looked any less foreboding on a clearer night, and why the people had crossed the moorland to Kincade’s house rather than going down the road to the bigger one. Kincade had said he had been woken; there would have been no light to guide there. Had they tried the manor and got nothing, or had something compelled them to avoid it?

“I suppose it does, what with the setting,” Kincade said, smiling. “I must admit, it was a brave thing to do. I think had I been in their position, I might have just tried my chances fixing the car in the morning.”

“Why’s that?” Q asked, injecting just the right amount of curiosity into his voice. “I mean, I know the house is a little creepy looking at night, but… this _isn’t_ a horror movie. Surely there’s nothing to worry about?”

“It’s just the principle of it, I suppose.” Kincade leaned over, reaching down to scratch one of the dogs behind the ears. “It’s easy to be brave in the day. Easy to be logical, too. You’ll find that’s harder to come by once night falls around here.”

Q paused for a moment, as though thinking over what Kincade said. He left just enough time to sound realistically confused.

“What do you mean?” he eventually asked, watching the flames. “Just normal, imagination running away with you kind of things?”

“James would kill me if he got back and found me telling you tall tales,” Kincade said, but the slight smile on his face told Q that Kincade liked nothing better than telling people tall tales, and that it probably wouldn’t take much to get something out of him.

“Why?” he asked. “Have you been scaring people away? They been calling James and complaining? Or have they been asking for the movie rights?” he added, laughing, and shook his head.

“Not quite,” he said. “James… isn’t the sort to like believing in it.”

“That’s an interesting choice of words.”

“Is it now?”

“Yes,” Q said, giving a small smile. “Usually you would say that someone doesn’t believe in something, or isn’t the sort to believe in something. Not that they’re not the sort to _like_ believing in something. It makes it seem as though James does believe in it, but it’s just… very reluctant.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be far off the truth,” Kincade said, and then he leaned forward slightly, his expression suddenly serious. “What did you see last night, Kew?”

Q blinked at him, for a moment forgetting his earlier aims and automatically playing dumb. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can tell from your expression that you know _exactly_ what I mean. What did you see?”

“Oh, it was – well, I thought it was something, but James is right, I was probably dreaming,” Q said hurriedly, feeling immediately stupid for it and even more so when he saw the look Kincade was giving him. “Alright, fine,” he said, when it became clear that Kincade was just going to keep staring at him until he admitted it. “I woke up and it was – well, it was just weird. The fire was still going and the bedside lamp was on, but all I could see was darkness. Unnatural darkness, I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. I tried calling for James but I guess he was asleep, and then... it sounds stupid, but it was like someone blew cold air in my face, and something touched my back. Then it was suddenly light again and the bathroom door was open. Wide open, and we’d shut it and locked it before we went to sleep. James made sure it was locked.” Q shook his head. “It seems like something that could have been a dream, one of those weird waking ones. But I know it wasn’t.”

There was something _almost_ relieving in the way Kincade was looking at him; Q thought that had it been anything else, it would have crossed that threshold and been actually relieving. As luck would have it, that wasn’t the case, and Q found himself experiencing the odd combination of validation and fear that came from realising someone else believed him when it came to things like this.

“Have you ever…?” he began, before swallowing and trying again. “I mean, I’m assuming that’s happened before. If the way you’re looking at me is anything to go by.”

“Maybe not that exactly, but things like it,” Kincade said, nodding. “The house is a strange place. All old buildings have their secrets, but sometimes this one like to show them off. Personally I try not to go in there at night. It’s always worse at night, as stereotypical as it sounds, but it’s unnerving no matter the time of day. I would be very careful if I were you, Kew.”

Despite his worrying, Q could feel his curiosity heightening. It hadn’t been a lie, what he and James had told Kincade earlier – this kind of thing had long since been an interest of his, though admittedly he did prefer to read about it from a safe distance rather than experience it for himself. 

“What kind of things have happened?” he asked. “Is it just like what I experienced? Cold spots, weird things with the lighting, doors doing what they want?—which reminds me, actually, when we were leaving this morning I was certain the doors had been closed when we got in, but we saw them all open again.”

“It’s impossible to keep the doors closed, actually,” Kincade said, shifting in his seat in a way that reminding Q of people who were uncomfortable. If Kincade was, that was the only sign. “Even if you lock them, they’ll be open. It’s best to just leave them as they are.”

“And the lighting?”

“It gets unnaturally dark in that house,” Kincade said. “Light doesn’t stretch, not from fires, not from lights on the ceiling. Not even if you have a torch in your hand. I have a high-powered one out here, and I barely get it to shine four feet away from me in that place. It’s very odd. Even on clear nights… nothing.”

Kincade definitely looked slightly uncomfortable now, Q thought. He wanted to press the man further, but he didn’t get the chance – the other man stood suddenly, leaning over to peer out of the window.

“Is it James?” Q asked, and Kincade nodded.

“He doesn’t look too pleased,” he said, turning for the door. Q got up and followed him, frowning in worry, and they went out into the hallway before Kincade paused and turned back to him. “Listen, Kew… it’s probably best if you just don’t mention what we discussed to James. He won’t hear it, and it frustrates him. You know what some people are like.”

“All too well,” Q said, though privately he wondered what was so special about this place – usually James was the first to entertain his ghost stories, even if he didn’t believe them. He supposed it might be different when it was one’s old childhood home.

“Good lad,” Kincade said, smiling, and then the two of them stepped out into the cold to meet James as he caught up to them.

“You won’t bloody believe it,” he said, and Q noticed for the first time that the car was nowhere in sight.

“Someone didn’t nick it, did they?” he asked, and James snorted.

“Luckily not,” he said. “But the storm got it good. I guess a gust of wind got to it, because it’s been pushed off the road and right down a ditch. Going to need your assistance pulling it out, Kincade. We’re going to have to pull it with that massive Jeep of yours.”

“Is it damaged?” Q asked quickly, feeling his chest tighten. He glanced over James’s shoulder, back at the house, looking so dark even in the bright morning. “Can we still leave today?”

“I have no idea,” James said. “You’re going to have to take a look at it, I imagine.”

“I didn’t bring any of my tools with me,” Q said.

“Not to worry. There’s practically a full garage up at the house.”

Q swallowed. “Alright.”

“It’ll probably be nothing, Q,” James told him. “A bit of damaged paintwork, I’m sure, but likely nothing more serious than that. Come on. Get your coat. We may as well drag it out now. No sense wasting time.”

*

“We can’t stay here.”

It was the first words out of Q’s mouth since they had pulled the car from the ditch and dragged it down to the house. For all he had been thinking about how he would present his argument, it seemed he had forgotten it all by the time he and James were back in their room, alone for a moment. All of Q’s anxieties returned once he saw the bathroom door again, slightly open, and he had abandoned all his carefully constructed arguments and simply gotten straight to the point.

“I won’t stay here,” he elaborated. “I _can’t_. You know I don’t like it here, and I don’t know how long it’ll take me to fix the car, and – do you not think it’s _weird_ , James? You know the bloody wind didn’t do that.”

“Well,” James said patiently. “What did?”

“I don’t know. But if the wind did just roll it down the ditch, it doesn’t explain why all the bloody electronics are fried.”

“Maybe it was sitting in water. Maybe there’s a leak. I don’t know, Q, and neither do you until you take a closer look at it later.”

“Can we not just go somewhere else?”

“Where?” James asked. “Kincade’s house is barely big enough for him, and we can’t exactly walk anywhere. And even if we did, what would we do with the car? Leave it here and buy a new one?”

“We could go and hire a car and come back and tow it out somewhere closer to a garage,” Q said quickly. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to fix it.”

“Come on, Q,” James snorted. “I’m sure the Quartermaster will be able to fix a car up at least enough that it can limp to a garage if need be.”

Q nearly shot out a remark about how that would be all fine and well until they broke down even more in the middle of nowhere, but quickly shut his mouth when he realised that he would actually prefer that to spending any longer than necessary here.

“I don’t want to stay here,” he said, pointlessly, because he felt he had to say something.

“I gathered that,” James said pleasantly.

“I don’t know how you can stand being here either.”

“Well, I am a little more used to it than you are. I did grow up here.”

Q felt a shiver run up his spine; he looked at James to see if he was meant to catch something else from his words, feeling as though he should, but there was nothing on James’s face to give him any clues. Once again Q found himself wondering just what it had been like for James to grow up here; combined with what Kincade had told him earlier, about how James didn’t _like_ to believe in the kinds of things they had been discussing, it made for some unpleasant speculation. 

“So is it something you can get used to?” Q asked instead, and James gave a small smile.

“I think it might take a bit longer than a few days,” he admitted.

“James…” Q began, and he almost said something he knew he’d regret, almost asked him about what was going on, or why he seemed so apprehensive even when he was trying to pretend that Q was being ridiculous – something that Q didn’t appreciate at all. His courage failed him at the last moment; combined with the lack of sleep from the night before, he couldn’t be bothered creating tension with James, too. He shut his mouth, shaking his head.

“Yes, Q?” James asked, raising an eyebrow, and Q gave him what he hoped was a casual smile.

“I was just wondering what we’re going to do for food,” he said. “If there isn’t much around here, and we’re going to be staying for a couple of days… I mean I suppose we could live on rabbit, but I’d rather have some variety.”

“There’s plenty of stuff in storage,” James said. “There’s a full pantry, actually, and a lot of frozen meat out in the outhouses. It’s nothing fresh, but you’ll probably find some pretty normal food there. It’s just breakfast food that’s lacking.”

“Normal food?” Q asked, giving a more genuinely amused smile.

“Well, yeah. In case you’re worrying it’ll look like a Cold War era nuclear shelter,” James said, returning the smile. Q thought something had relaxed in his face. “It’s not all grains and rice. I think there are a few massive boxes of mac’n’cheese. Scotland is pretty crazy about mac’n’cheese.”

It seemed to be the cue his stomach had needed; Q felt it grumble at him, and he realised that neither of them had eaten anything substantial since the night before. Breakfast had been good, but they had spent the hour and a half after it trekking through marshy, watered-down land and hauling a car around, so Q was already feeling the need for something with a bit more bite to it. They finished pulling their suitcases around and then left everything else – books and loose odds and ends – in a pile on the bed, before heading back out into the hallway. The sun was coming through an upper window now, making the house look slightly less imposing, but Q could still feel the chill that had settled into what felt like every part of him. He pulled his sweater closer around him, shivering slightly. 

They walked through a large but surprisingly cosy kitchen – Q guessed it was because it looked so old fashioned that it appeared so oddly welcoming, the old equipment almost expected and familiar in such surroundings – and through to a door at the back: open, of course. The room inside was spacious and dominated by large shelves, of which a third was empty. The rest was piled high with pretty much anything Q could think of that had a long shelf life, from boxes of ready meals to the aforementioned grains and rices, and even cans of stews and soups and curries.

“Huh,” Q said. “Well, I suppose that’s not bad.”

“We’ll just have to make do with powdered milk and defrosted bread, I suppose,” James said. “I’m pretty sure there’s a bunch of meat in the freezers outside, too. Lamb, mostly, but also some rabbit and chicken. I keep saying to Kincade he should start keeping chickens again, but he says there’s no point.”

“Why not?” Q asked, confused. “It would save him some hunting, and he’d have eggs, too.”

“Well, they always bloody die,” James said, peering through some boxes on the shelves. “At first Kincade thought the dogs were going for them, but even when he locked them up for the night it would still happen. So he thought it was foxes, but never saw any, and sometimes the chickens would die even when he had them securely locked away during winter. He never did work it out.”

“Were they like… eaten?” Q asked cautiously. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Sometimes,” James said. He sounded incredibly casual considering the subject matter. “Only partially, mind. Mauled, I guess would be the right word. That’s another reason Kincade didn’t think it was the dogs. They’re trained to kill quickly and bring him the result. They know not to eat what they kill.”

“Huh,” Q said, unable to keep the unease from his voice.

“I kept telling him it was foxes,” James said, before laughing. “He won’t believe me. He’s too proud to admit that he’s too old to keep watch all night. Silly bugger probably fell asleep and didn’t notice them come in. They can get crafty when they’re hungry.”

“Are there many foxes all the way out here?” Q asked. He couldn’t imagine them this far into the mountains, but he supposed there was nothing technically saying they couldn’t survive out here.

“I’ve seen a couple,” James said, shrugging. “Not for a while, though. But then again, Kincade hasn’t had chickens for a while.”

*

Q liked being away from the house, but that much was a given. He wasn’t too far away; the house behind him was still within shouting distance, but he was continuing to walk away from it, taking a well-worn path that wound through the moorland and avoided the dips filled with mud and water. He could see a chapel far off in the distance; too far away to walk to in this cold weather, but close enough that Q guessed that was where the path would eventually lead him.

The further he walked away from the house, the lighter he felt. He didn’t bother to turn and stare back at it, knowing that it would just ruin the brief reprise he had found, and he managed to enjoy said reprise for all of three minutes before he began to feel uneasy again. He slowed his pace almost to a stop, wondering where his unease was coming from. Strangely, it didn’t seem to be pressing at his back from the direction of the house, which surprised him – rather, it was coming from up ahead, and Q reached the top of a small slope and found his anxiety double.

He was looking out across a large loch, the water unfrozen despite the frost clinging to the reeds around it. He could see ice around where the reeds broke the surface, and chunks of broken ice sat around the shoreline, letting him know that whenever the loch had melted, it hadn’t been that long ago. Q couldn’t explain why it made him feel so on edge; it looked cold, and lonely, and he felt the usual unease that came from not quite knowing how deep a body of water was, but there was something else on top of the feeling that he couldn’t quite explain. It felt like what he had experienced approaching the house the night before, but still not quite the same. Like he was being watched, maybe, or—

Like he had been expected.

It was only when one of the dogs streaked out from the reeds beside him and frightened the life out of him that Q realised how silent it was by the water. He hadn’t even heard the dog approaching him, despite the fact that the animal was bounding around energetically, his paws crunching on the frost as he jumped around. Even so, Q noticed that if there was even a couple of feet between them, he could barely hear the dog at all. He took a careful step forward and listened for the crunch of his shoe on the frozen earth; there was barely anything. Looking at the water, he could see a breeze stirring the surface, causing small ripples and waves, but there was none of the sounds Q would associate with that. He had always found the sound of lapping water to be relaxing; right now, the silence was ominous, like watching a video with the sound muted. The dog darted back to him and this time sniffed around him, not straying any further, and Q found himself looking around for Kincade. There was no sign of him.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” Q asked the dog, reaching out a hand. The dog sniffed it thoroughly and then gave his fingers a short lick. “Or have you been following me the whole time?”

He felt a little better with the dog there – after all, animals tended to be sensitive to the kinds of changes that he might not notice right away, if anything was out here with him. He wasn’t sure if an early warning would do him much good if something decided to come out of the loch and swallow him up, nor was he certain where that thought had come from in the first place, but he supposed he had to take his comforts where he got them.

Q looked across the water again, staring at the small chapel on the other side. It was the kind of cold, hazy day where he couldn’t quite focus on something that far away, and clouds shrouded the mountains around them and began to creep into the valley. If Q let himself, he could almost believe that he was seeing it rush in before his very eyes; the chapel appeared almost unreal, like something painted on. 

And then, quite suddenly, Q spotted something, something brief and bright, like a flash of light from a lamp. He squinted, stepping a little closer, trying to work out where he might have seen it – perhaps in a window? Several long seconds passed with nothing, and then Q saw it again, longer now, a flash and then a steady glow. It stayed in the same place, but moved ever so slightly, as though someone was holding it.

“What the—” he mumbled, and then whatever he was going to say next was chased out of his mind by the sound of growling, coming from right next to him. Q glanced down, seeing that Kincade’s dog was pressed against his leg now, his hackles raised. The low growl was coming from him, constant and threatening to turn to a bark at any moment.

 _Time to go_ , Q thought, but for some reason he decided to glance at the chapel one last time before he did so. The light was gone, but there was something else in his line of vision now, between himself and the chapel, on the far bank of the loch. He couldn’t make out many details – just the fact that whatever it was, it was humanoid, and very red. The colour briefly stood out against the stark landscape, and then it was gone. Q turned and quickly hurried back towards the house, expecting no comforts from being inside but hoping to find some in the company he might find.

*

“You’re going to have to watch that one,” Kincade said, shortly after Q had left on his wanderings. “I won’t bore you with a discussion I know you don’t want to have, but I will say that much.”

“Give it a rest, Kincade,” James said, sipping cautiously at a cup of coffee he had managed to create from a forgotten jar of instant coffee and some powdered milk. Either he was more desperate for a coffee than he thought, or it didn’t actually taste that bad. “He’s got enough ideas in his head without you telling him ghost stories.”

“I think he has a right to know.”

“Oh, come on –”

“If I’d been _planting ideas_ , James, then how did he know all of that absolutely typical behaviour? Unless you’re trying to tell me that he coincidentally had a dream about the same kind of events that people were complaining of experiencing in this place before you were even _born_ …”

“I get that the house is strange, Kincade,” James said, finding himself slightly amused. “I did grow up here. I know it has its… oddities.”

“You know, but you don’t remember most of it, do you?” Kincade asked, shifting slightly on the hard wood of the kitchen chair. He drummed his fingers against the table, and James didn’t know why it put him so on edge. Maybe he was irritable. It was probably that. He had had only two cups of coffee today.

“I remember a lot of it,” James said, keeping his voice casual. “I also remember that I was a small child, and small children are prone to such things. I _also_ remember that I did spend a large chunk of time under a lot of mental stress here, and I doubt that helped, either. And before you interrupt, I’m not saying that it was all in my head. I’m saying that these kinds of things feed on energy like that, so I would rather keep things more light-and-airy and less foreboding-horror-movie, thank you very much. The more doomsday talk, the worse it is.” James paused, looking at though he might back out of saying something before he finally forced it out of himself, almost as though it was a peace offering. “It’s always been that way.”

*

Q had decided not to tell anyone about what he had seen at the loch. He wasn’t stupid enough to try and convince himself that it had been a trick of the fog or his imagination running away with him, but he also didn’t see the point in telling James (who would probably try and convince him of the very same things) or Kincade (who might end up terrifying him even more). Q kept it to himself, and keeping such things to himself was something that he was rather good at after so many years of experience.

He thought that James probably knew something was bothering him, but he didn’t draw attention to it. He also didn’t ask why Q was sticking to him like glue for the rest of the evening, either, which Q appreciated. There were many places in the house to sit around in, including several studies and a still rather impressive library, but of course Q chose the seat literally next to James, tucking his legs up under him and leaning against him as he balanced his laptop on his knee. There was a large fire going in the grate and the room was pleasantly warm, but Q was still all too aware of the shadows flickering closer with every brief lull of the flames, and then receding back as though it had been caught red-handed when they flared up again.

It was a shame, really. Q thought that the house could have probably been a beautiful place if it wasn’t for everything that made it seem so _hateful_. He wondered if it had always been like that, or if James remembered a time where the house had been a home – warm and loving and safe. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t think that was the kind of thing he could just _bring up_ inconspicuously. 

“Did you ever get bored being all the way out here?” he asked instead, and he felt James shrug against him.

“I didn’t spend much time here when I was young enough that being bored was the end of the world,” he said. “We travelled a lot when I was younger, and only really stayed here when there was enough time to be worth it. A few weeks here and there.”

“That’s so weird,” Q said, shaking his head. “What’s the point in having a grand old place like this if you never live in it?”

“Well,” James said, laughing. “It wasn’t as though my parents saw it and fell in love with it and decided they absolutely _had_ to have it. It’s been in the family for centuries, remember? To be honest, I sometimes got the impression that they would rather like to get rid of the place, if it wasn’t for a sense of loyalty from my father.”

“Get rid of it?” Q asked. “Why?”

“Places like these cost a fortune to keep up,” James said. “A lot of old families you see who have large properties are actually broke from maintaining them. My father knew someone at school, his uncle had inherited some estate somewhere from his grandfather, I think it was actually quite literally a castle or something. Anyway, he only allowed his family to have electricity for an hour a day and only in certain parts of the house, because keeping the whole house connected cost more than the entire bloody village’s rent combined.”

Q laughed. “I suppose that’s why there are fire grates in every room that matters, then.”

“Burning things has always been cheaper, I find. Plus it feels more homely, don’t you think? Or, I suppose, as homely as this place can feel.”

Q saw his opportunity and seized it for all it was worth. “Did you ever feel at home here?”

“No,” James said, surprising Q by answering immediately. “But then again, I spent my formative years in other places. I didn’t really have a connection to this place, and more of the memories I have are unpleasant. Don’t get me wrong, there are some good ones, but… well.”

There was a heavy silence before Q dared to break it.

“Your parents,” he said, quietly, and James stiffened slightly and gave a small nod.

“Nowhere is a fun place to deal with the death of a loved one,” he said. “But that goes double for places where you have memories of them.”

“I wish I could have met them,” Q said, even quieter, and James gave a soft laugh.

“I think they would have liked you. My mother would have loved you because you’re smart. My father would have loved you because you’re smart and you know how to use a gun.”

Q laughed properly then, and the sound was strange against the heaviness of the house, though not in a bad way. Q found himself almost giving in to ridiculous ideas about energy and cleansing and all the stuff he was told by people who had never encountered anything truly malicious. He didn’t think that laughter would do him any good when it came to whatever had been in the bedroom that night, and the thought made his stomach twist in knots again. James must have felt him react to it, because he slipped an arm around Q’s side and pulled him closer.

“We can sleep somewhere else tonight, if you want,” he said, so casually that Q didn’t notice it was a direct reference to what had happened at first. It took him a moment to reply, because he was sorely tempted to ask they move somewhere else, but eventually he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think I’d like to take the risk.” He forced a brave smile in James’s direction. “Better the devil you know, right?”

*

The room was ice cold, even though the fire had been going in the grate for an hour before they got into bed. Q wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had showered with the bathroom door unlocked and open, just in case, and had spent the entirety of the shower jumping and looking wildly around the room at every slight breeze or clank of the ancient water pipes. By the time he crawled into bed, he was exhausted from the stress, but he knew sleep wouldn’t be coming easily to him that night. Or any of the nights that they spent in this place, for that matter.

James had to take his turn to shower, and while he too kept the door open (probably more for Q’s comfort than his own, Q figured) it didn’t do much for Q’s nerves. He sat huddled under the blanket, bunching it up under his chin and leading back against the headboard, keeping a watchful eye on the room around him. He wasn’t going to pretend that he would be able to concentrate on a book or any more of his work on his laptop, but there was also something that seemed almost foolish when it came to his vigil. He didn’t _want_ to see anything, but he still found himself scanning the room periodically, eyes darting back and forth from one strange shadow to another, as though there would be some sign he could work out that would let him know if something wasn’t what it should be. 

He considered laying down and closing his eyes and at least pretending that he stood a chance of sleep, but for some reason that thought made him even more anxious. He knew this much was his imagination running away from him, but after everything he had experienced so far it wasn’t a stretch to believe that something could be creeping towards him while he lay there, unaware.

It was a stalemate of sorts. A highly ridiculous one, he knew, though he couldn’t blame himself entirely given the evidence at his disposal. His mind strayed worryingly close to what he had seen at the loch earlier that day, and he stubbornly chased it away. It took such concentration that he hadn’t noticed the sudden silence from the bathroom; his brief moment of hope was destroyed by the sudden bang at the bedroom door, sounding as though someone had slammed something incredibly heavy against it. Q sat up straight, the covers slipping off him and allowing the chill to touch at his skin; the sound was far too loud to be fists on that thick wooden door, but Q couldn’t think of anything that could have made that sound.

“James?” he called, with eerie similarity to the night before, but of course there was no answer. 

Q glanced at the bathroom, seeing the door was still slightly open, but he could see no movement inside it. His heart in his throat, he swung his legs out of bed, pressing his toes into the icy rug. He wanted to simply stand and walk over to the bathroom, knowing it would likely break whatever spell was deadening the sound that should be coming from it, but his eyes strayed back to the bedroom door again and he suddenly found himself pulling himself back up onto the bed, some gut instinct urging him not to cross the room. He drew his knees up under his chin and watched, not knowing what he was even watching for.

After a few seconds he noticed it, seeing the way the door handle was moving slightly. It didn’t look as though someone were trying to open it; more like it was simply vibrating, though what could be causing it Q had no idea. The rest of the door was still, but the handle was by now vibrating with such force that Q could hear it buzzing all the way across the room. As abruptly as it started it stopped, and there was a brief moment where Q almost dared to hope that that was the end of it. He knew better, of course; he felt chilled but not surprised when the door silently opened, a few inches at first before it stopped, and then another few inches, slowly and haltingly, reminding Q of when his programs lagged. It had that same jerky movement, the same feeling that whatever was going on, it was a struggle.

The thought empowered him. Before he could think too much about what he was doing, Q spoke.

“Go away.”

The door stopped, and Q had the sudden urge to laugh, imagining that whatever it was was trying to work out if he had actually been so brave. His amusement didn’t last long, though; the door suddenly slammed itself shut with enough force that Q saw the heavy wood shake in its frame, the sound louder than Q had thought possible. He sat on the bed, too stunned and shaken up to process the fact that technically, his moment of bravery had paid off.

It was only at the last moment that he noticed the shadow, passing almost undetected at floor level. The light from the fire seemed to be extinguished under it; Q watched as it slid across the floor like when a cloud passed over the sun. There was a breath of cold air as it passed over the bed, and then nothing. Q sat as still a possible, briefly wondering if whatever it was had left after all. What if it had been slamming the door _behind_ it? What if it was in the same room as him? 

Q could feel his heart in his throat, and he didn’t dare crawl to the other side of the bed to see if it had come out from the other side. He found himself wanting to close his eyes, but only the earlier thoughts stopped him, about what could sneak up on him if he did.

 _You’re a fully grown adult, the bloody Quartermaster of MI6, and you’re scared of the monster under the bed,_ he thought, trying to force himself out of it, but he could feel cold air at his back and he knew it would be no use. He found himself possessed with the sudden urge to scream, but before he could he realised the coldness had gone, and James was suddenly standing in the doorway, towelling his hair dry and looking questioningly at Q.

“Are you not cold?” he asked, and Q gave a shaky laugh.

“That’s an understatement,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate as he crawled back under the covers, trying not to visualise something being under them already, waiting for him.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Who was I – oh! Nothing, I just was calling to see if you were done yet, because I couldn’t hear the shower.”

“Sounded like you were telling someone to go away,” James said pointedly, and Q felt heat creeping into his cheeks.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to _hear_ ,” he said, because he knew it was useless to keep trying to lie.

“So who was there?”

“No one, of course,” Q said, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling high above him. No wonder the place was so bloody cold, he thought, with all these high ceilings. “I just thought someone was there. Something was rattling the door handle, so I told whatever it was to piss off.”

James frowned. “And you don’t think that’s odd?”

“Well, it’s not going to be Kincade, is it?” Q asked. “And there’s sure as hell no one else around here. Of course I think it’s strange, but apparently strange things aren’t out of the ordinary here, as ironic as that is. So I suppose you could say my idea of what’s strange has adapted.”

James gave a small smile, hunting around the pile of clothing on the bed for a T-shirt.

“That’s a little different, considering what you were saying earlier.”

“What was I saying earlier?”

“About how you couldn’t possibly stay here, I’m assuming, because it scared the holy bajesus out of you.”

Q snorted. “Well, I was overruled, wasn’t I?”

“So you’ve just decided to embrace it, hmm?”

“Do I have a choice?” Q asked, tugging the covers up and over his face. “I’ve never seen any sense in fighting the inevitable. I’m stuck here, and the entire place is haunted as balls. Whatever.”

He heard James pause, as though considering whether he wanted to make this serious or not, but seemed to decide against it. The laugh Q heard was genuinely amused, and there was a creak as James sat on the bed beside him, staring at the lump under the blankets.

“That’s admirable.”

“I just hope I don’t bloody live to regret it.”

“I suppose if you _live_ to regret it, then the worst case scenario was avoided.”

“You’d like to think.”

*

Q heard noises all night. At first they could be explained away – old houses like these always had their odd sounds – but eventually Q stopped lying to himself. Something was walking around the room, bare feet slapping on the wooden floor, and they were moving things around, dragging things across the shelves and furniture, rustling through clothing, flicking through books. Eventually there was a heavy thud as whatever it was dropped into a crawl; Q heard it drag itself across the floor and felt the edge of the duvet tug as it pulled itself under the bed. Q could hear it there now, breathing.

He was aware of how tense James was next to him. At some point, James’s hand found his under the covers, and they lay side by side, gripping one another’s hands with everything they had, not daring to talk.


End file.
